


Cocktail

by Luthien



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:32:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien/pseuds/Luthien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle and Rumpelstiltskin take a stroll on the beach one night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cocktail

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Porn Battle XV: The Ides of Porn](http://battle.oxoniensis.org/). Prompt: beach.

They intend to go to Granny's that evening. They even get as far as Main Street. Rumpelstiltskin stands on the corner and looks over at the brightly lit windows of the diner. Inside, there are groups sitting around tables, eating and drinking – mostly drinking – and small knots of people standing around and chatting. He can almost feel the laughter from here.

Belle's hand tugs at his elbow. "Let's go for a walk," she suggests.

Rumpelstiltskin can't help but smile. She's got the knack of reading his mind down to a fine art at this point. "I'm not really in the mood for a room full of raucous dwarfs holding a beer-drinking contest," he admits.

Belle smiles back at him. "Then let's see where the road takes us," she says, hand still on his arm as she turns to cross the street.

Rumpelstiltskin lets her lead him where she will.

They end up at the beach. It's not really much to look at, as beaches go, but at least at night it's hard to tell. The moon hangs low over the water, almost full, and bigger and yellower than usual. Its light infuses the surroundings with a certain otherworldly look that they absolutely do not deserve. Some might call it romantic.

"Sex on the beach," Belle says, looking not at him but at the moonlight playing over the choppy little waves.

If Rumpelstiltskin had been eating anything right now, he would have choked on it. Even as it is, he makes a fairly good attempt at choking on nothing at all.

"Are you all right?" Belle asks in concern.

Rumpelstiltskin coughs, clears his throat loudly, and gives her a speaking look.

Belle has the grace to look at least a little apologetic. "Sorry," she says, then spoils it slightly by biting down on a smile. "I didn't mean that quite how it sounded. The beach and the moonlight made me think of it. It was Lacey's favourite cocktail."

"Really? I didn't notice," Rumpelstiltskin says sourly, remembering the many wine bottles that Lacey had made her way through, all the while gazing at him through lying blue eyes. "Did she drink them before or after the champagne?"

"Sorry," Belle says quietly. There's no amusement in her voice this time.

"No, no," Rumpelstiltskin says, his sudden bitterness falling away in an instant. "I'm the one who's sorry. She wasn't you. You're not responsible for anything she said or did, but you have every right to talk about that time if you wish."

"I don't want to do anything to cause you pain. If you hurt, I hurt." Belle wriggles in close against his side.

"Tell me," Rumpelstiltskin says. He'll hurt worse knowing that she's keeping it inside because of him. If Belle needs to talk, the least Rumpelstiltskin can do is listen.

"There isn't much to tell," Belle says, but she's looking out over the water again. "You know most of it."

"But there were… memories," Rumpelstiltskin says carefully.

"Yes. And not just cocktails."

Rumpelstiltskin waits.

"Lacey liked the memory of Sex on the Beach, even though she'd never actually had one. She also liked the idea of sex on the beach, even though she'd never actually done it." Belle's hand finds Rumpelstiltskin's and squeezes it tight.

Rumpelstiltskin closes his eyes, but the mental image is already emblazoned in his memory. "Who?" he asks, dreading the answer.

"Oh, no!" Belle's hand comes up to his cheek, and he has no choice but to look at her properly. "I didn't mean that she remembered doing it, just that she liked the idea of it."

He can't see the blueness of her eyes, but even in the moonlight they shine with sincerity through her distress at the small misunderstanding. Lacey's eyes never looked like that.

Rumpelstiltskin takes Belle's hand in his and pushes back her sleeve, just a little. Then he brings it to his lips and kisses the soft, sensitive skin on the underside of her wrist. Her hand trembles against his mouth. Rumpelstiltskin smiles against her skin. Every response from her is a compliment worth more than gold. Still, it could be a reaction to the cool night air. Just to be sure, he kisses her wrist again. Her whole body trembles against him this time.

"Are you cold?" Rumpelstiltskin asks her.

"No," says Belle. She kisses him this time, and not on the wrist.

They don't usually kiss in public, even at night when they're alone. Their public displays of affection are usually limited to strolling arm in arm down the street – though today, since Rumpelstiltskin's return from Neverland, it's been a bit more like hanging on to each other for dear life. This latest parting has been one too many.

Perhaps that's why this kiss, once started, fails to stop when it should. Their lips touch, soft but not unsure and then things only get firmer and surer until finally Rumpelstiltskin pulls back with a gasp that sounds like something close to pain, and he doesn't resist when Belle drags him down to sit on the sand beside her.

Belle wriggles in close, under his arm. Rumpelstiltskin has no choice but to place his arm around her shoulders and pull her even closer. It isn't as if he minds. He tries very hard not to notice her hand resting casually on his thigh. They're in public, after all. Technically.

"So," Belle says close against his ear, "about sex on the beach…"

Rumpelstiltskin is almost sure that she's not talking about a cocktail this time. "Do people actually do that sort of thing? People without cursed memories," he clarifies, in case there can be any doubt.

"Oh, yes," Belle says, so close that her warm breath is like a promise against his skin. "Lacey thought so. It seems to be more something that younger people do."

"Well, that rules me out, then," Rumpelstiltskin says, and then swallows hard as Belle's hand moves up and is suddenly lying almost innocently against his cock. She can't have failed to notice that he's hard, but her hand doesn't move away. Worse, it doesn't move _at all_. It just stays there.

"Really?" Belle asks, or at least that's what Rumpelstiltskin hears. " _Really_ young," Belle continues. "Younger than I was when I made my deal with you. You know, teenagers and college students and their beach parties, sharing bottles of the cheapest, most terrible wine imaginable."

"Do you ever miss it?" He's proud that he manages to say "miss" instead of "regret", and prouder still that his voice remains steady as he asks the question.

Belle doesn't pretend to misunderstand. "A carefree youth?" she says.

"That, yes. And the company of people of your own age."

"No," Belle says simply, and then she kisses him as her hand finally moves to cup his cock through his trousers.

By the time this kiss finishes, Belle is halfway into his lap, with one hand buried in his hair. Rumpelstiltskin is half-sitting, half-lying on the (fortunately) dry sand, propped up on one hand. The other has slipped in beneath the various layers of clothing to find Belle's breast. Her skin feels as soft and smooth as the satiny undergarment she's wearing, except for her nipple, which rises and hardens at his touch. He can't stop his fingers from coming back to it again and again, and every time he's rewarded by the hiss of Belle's breath above the sound of the waves.

Belle has been busy as well. She's managed to get his belt undone, apparently with only one hand– how she succeeded remains a mystery – and now she's busy with the zip of his trousers.

"Do you really want to do this here?" Rumpelstiltskin asks, though it's pretty clear that Belle does.

"Would it be so bad?" Belle says, and pulls his zipper down. It's of excellent quality, like every part of his suit, so it doesn't get stuck partway.

"Someone might chance upon us," Rumpelstiltskin feels compelled to point out, but the protest sounds feeble even to his own ears. He's not some innocent maiden trying to find reasons not to be ravished, after all. If the not-quite-so-innocent-as-she-was maiden wants to have her way with him on the beach at night, who is he to complain?

"No one will. They're all at Granny's." Belle leans forward and places a tiny kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Let's be young, just for now, just for tonight," she whispers.

And how can Rumpelstiltskin deny her that?

He expects… Rumpelstiltskin isn't sure what he expects, but he _doesn't_ expect Belle to slip down and away from him, until she's sitting between his knees. He also doesn't expect her to lean forward and pull the waistband of his boxers down – he helps her with that part – until his cock springs free. And he most definitely doesn't expect her to lean down and leave a kiss on the head of his cock before she takes it in her mouth.

He gasps, partly in shock, partly because any appropriate words – are there any words appropriate for such an eventuality? – have flown right out of his head. The touch of her lips on his cock commands his attention, for all that it's an inexpert touch. But no, that's not quite right. Belle's touch is inexperienced but not inexpert. Even though she's never done this before he's hardly a stranger to her. She already knows him better than anyone ever has, his body as much as all the rest of him. If anybody is an expert when it comes to Rumpelstiltskin, it's Belle.

Her tongue swirls across the head of his cock, again and again, testing as much as teasing – probably – as she finds her way. Rumpelstiltskin leans up on his elbows a little further to try to see, but in this light he can feel that her head is moving more easily than he can see it. He hopes he's not leaking, or not too much. Even if the stuff doesn't smell or taste like much at all, it can't be pleasant to have it in your mouth, of that much Rumpelstiltskin is sure.

Belle sucks him in, harder than before, and Rumpelstiltskin forgets everything but the feel of it, and the desperate need to stop himself from pushing up into her glorious wet mouth. He succeeds, more or less, mainly because her teeth scrape along the side of his cock right then. Rumpelstiltskin can't stop some sort of noise from escaping him, and then something much worse than a fleeting scrape of teeth happens: Belle sits up.

"Are you all right?" she asks in concern. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, not at all," Rumpelstiltskin says, which is almost the truth.

"Do you want me to stop?" she asks, and now she sounds unsure.

"No," Rumpelstiltskin says, glad that she can't properly make out his expression in the moonlight even though she must notice the slight crack in his voice. "Don't stop."

Belle leans down again, and her hands are on him now as well as her mouth, enclosing him, holding him in place. Rumpelstiltskin leans back and closes his eyes. He's not close, not yet. He can indulge Belle – and himself – in her exploration a little longer before he'll need to stop. 

Belle's hand starts moving, slipping up and down the length of his cock, stopping to squeeze gently just below the head where it meets her lips.

Rumpelstiltskin pushes up into her mouth before he can stop himself and lets out a shuddering sigh. He bites his lip, trying to keep quiet, trying to hold himself there and not start something that will be over all too soon. He manages to keep to his resolution for at least a couple of seconds before he starts moving with her, though he tries to hold himself back and keep things gentle and slow. He strokes her hair, missing her, somehow, craving more of her than their current positions allow, despite the response she's wringing from him.

And then Belle's hand is gone and her lips are sliding down the length of him, taking him in, sucking him in, hard and wonderful and not tentative at all, and the orgasm rolls through him like a wave, flooding Belle's mouth before he can warn her or even pull away.

Belle splutters and sits up, and Rumpelstiltskin falls back against the sand, elated and ashamed. He only stays lying there long enough to catch his breath and for the hammering of his heart to slow a little. Then he tucks his cock back into his pants and makes himself sit up.

"I'm sorry," he says, looking out at the ocean. The moon has climbed a little higher now and doesn't look quite so large as before.

"Rumple," Belle says, and something in her voice makes Rumpelstiltskin glance at her. Her lips are shining, which makes him want to cringe, but so are her eyes, and he doesn't think it's just the moonlight. "I did that. I made you come. Just by doing that. On the beach."

"Yes," Rumpelstiltskin says carefully. "You did. On the beach. In the moonlight."

"I, uh, wasn't sure that I'd be able to, or that you'd even agree to it."

This, at least, is easy to answer. "If you ever want something that is within my power to give, Belle, you need only ask."

She smiles, and scoots over to insinuate herself against his side. "Thank you," she says softly and leans her head against his shoulder. His arm comes around her and they stare out at the sea for a moment. "But sometimes a surprise can be fun, too, don't you think?" she adds, and there's a hint of mischief to her words now.

"Indeed," he says, and makes a sweeping gesture. It only takes the slightest surge of his magic to summon a tray bearing two tall glasses containing a yellow-orange drink. Each glass is adorned with a slice of orange and a maraschino cherry. He sets the tray on the sand beside them and hands one of the glasses to Belle. "Sex on the beach?" he asks.

Belle giggles, and takes a sip. She screws up her face. "Oh," she says.

"Not to your taste?" Rumpelstiltskin asks.

Belle nods. "I don't like cranberry juice." She sets the drink back on the tray. "I guess I should have expected that she'd love something I don't care for."

The wind chooses that moment to stir, picking up some of the sand and sending it stinging against Rumpelstiltskin's cheek.

"Maybe we should think about getting back," Belle says.

"Not just yet," Rumpelstiltskin says, one hand on her leg as she shifts as if to get to her feet. He makes another gesture, more extravagant than before. When the purple smoke clears, they're still on the beach but looking out at the water through a pair of heavy silken curtains.

Belle looks around her, taking in the changes. She's much more used to his magic now than she used to be, because instead of exclaiming in surprise she merely raises one eyebrow and says: "Why do we need a tent?"

Rumpelstiltskin falls back against the pile of cushions – just like those to be found in the finest tents in Agrabah – and, since he's still holding onto Belle, takes her with him.

"Because now it's your turn for sex on the beach, and I don't intend to run the risk of being interrupted," Rumpelstiltskin says, and proceeds to demonstrate exactly what he means. In detail.


End file.
